of the aesthetic
Wilde may be entirely false; or the whole scene may be an optical
illusion; or--_Rosenduft und Maienblumen_, observe me this lovely
maiden!"

"If anything be anything? You can be positive enough where a pretty girl
is concerned. She _is_ pretty, though, and as _deutsch_ as her ancestors
were a century or two ago, when they left the Rhineland and crossed the
sea. A pure blonde German type. Tacitus would have included her among
the Non-Suevi."

Their attention had been drawn from the scenery by the approach of a
young woman and a little boy. The former was above the medium height,
and was about twenty years old, but the infantile mould of her features
and the innocent look in her large blue eyes gave strangers a
bewildering impression that she was somewhere in the neighborhood of
five. She was charmingly pretty in her way, and her wide-brimmed hat of
dark straw set off to full advantage the pale golden hue of her braided
hair and the delicate purity of her complexion.

Brent could not resist the temptation to accost this mild and grave
young beauty. Stepping forward as she was passing, he lifted his hat,
and said, "Will you be good enough to tell me the way to the nearest
encampment of Indians?"

"Indians?" she repeated, with a timid wonder in the tones of her soft
voice.

"Yes. We are Europeans, travelling in this country, and we should like
to find some Indians who will help us to hunt buffaloes. Are there many
buffaloes near here? We haven't seen any sitting on the branches of the
trees as we came along."

"I don't think buffaloes _could_ get up in the trees," said the girl in
a meekly explanatory manner.

"Why, you don't mean to say that the buffaloes in this country can't
climb, do you?"

"I never saw a buffalo; but I don't _think_ they can."

She looked despairingly at her small brother, who, having not yet
reached the age of six years, was unable to afford any help in deciding
a question in zoology.

"This is very interesting," said Brent, turning toward his companion.
"It seems that American buffaloes are forced to spend all their time on
the ground."

"_Narrheit!_" growled the professor, beginning to walk away.

"Well, I'm very much obliged to you," said Brent. "Good-morning."

Then he followed his friend, who was already descending a hill in the
road.

"Sister Rena, what did that man want still?" asked the little boy.

"I don't know, love," said his sister faintly. Her ideas